


He Scores!

by IhaveAbadfeelingAboutThis



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, March Madness, One Shot, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23487205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IhaveAbadfeelingAboutThis/pseuds/IhaveAbadfeelingAboutThis
Summary: With the NCAA men's basketball tournament cancelled, and a stay-at-home order in place, Albus is sulking over the games that might have been. Gellert has a surprise to help cheer him up.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	He Scores!

**Author's Note:**

> Gellert and Albus as ex-basketball players / present-day commentators?  
> Yep. 
> 
> Not least because I am consoling myself over never getting to so much as fill in a bracket this year  
> #basketballfanproblems

Gellert was sitting in front of the dark television, wearing one of Albus’ old Gryffindor t-shirts.  
Today would have been the day of the championship game, but the entire tournament had been cancelled due to the pandemic. It had been the right thing to do, but Albus still wasn’t over it.

Gryffindor had been ranked number one when the season was shut down. And it was Theseus Scamander’s senior year. Sure, he had one more year of eligibility (or two, now, with the recent NCAA ruling), but he had been turning down offers to play professionally since his sophomore year. Would he really stay for grad school just to play one last season with Gryffindor? It seemed unlikely.

Albus walked to the fridge.  
“Rubbing it in, are you?” he called from the kitchen.  
“Rubbing what in?”  
Albus clenched his teeth. Gellert knew what.

“Get me a beer too, would you Albus? And some chips? And some guacamole?”  
“I’m not getting a beer. I’m getting ice cream, if you must know.”  
He could get his own damn beer, the jerk.

“Don’t sulk, Albus. Come sit with me - I have a surprise for you.”  
Albus sighed. Fine. He wasn’t much in the mood for humoring Gellert right now, but anytime he said, ‘I have a surprise for you,’ it proved to be worth it. 

Albus came in, tossed the chips on the table, handed Gellert his beer, and dropped onto the sofa.  
“Guac?”  
Albus rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear.” He handed Gellert a half empty plastic tub of guacamole. 

Gellert turned on the TV, which was immediately filled with a logo announcing:  
**2019 NCAA Basketball Championship Finals**

Albus turned to Gellert, astonished. “Where did you get this?”  
“Credence owed me. He copied it off the master for me.”

If anything, Gellert owed Credence at this point. He was forever asking for favors like this one. But… Gellert had helped Credence find his birth parents, and Credence as a result felt like he was permanently in Gellert’s debt. Albus imagined that the one reason Gellert had hired the private investigator was to have an editor at his beck and call. He had collected people all over the network, one way or another. It was his own little fiefdom at this point.

“Why _this_ game? Gryffindor _lost_ to Slytherin last year. We could be watching the Gryffindor / Ravenclaw semi-final game.”  
“Are you fucking kidding me? That was the most boring game in the tournament, after Hufflepuff took out Beauxbatons in the Sweet Sixteen. Gryffindor was up by 32 at the end of the first half. The only way they could have lost that game in the second was if their entire starting lineup had been struck by dysentery at the half. Even then, Gryffindor might have pulled off a win.” 

Gellert was right. The Gryffindor / Slytherin game had been intense, physical, a nail biter. It had gone into double overtime. The Ravenclaw game… would not have been worth watching.  
“Besides. The final would have been today, so – we will watch the final.”

“If only they could have held the tournament! I was looking forward to seeing Gryffindor win this year.”

Gellert tipped his head, as if he were considering the possibility.  
“They might not have. They were ranked first in 2007, and went down in the second round.”  
To Diagon, in their first ever appearance in the tournament. It had been embarrassing.

“Would they…” Albus didn’t want to ask. He knew Gellert was expecting him to ask, wanted him to ask, and Albus didn’t want to feed his ego. But Albus had to know –  
“ _Would_ they have gone out in the second round?”

No one ever had a perfect bracket – the odds against it were absurd, but before the end of the day on which the teams were selected, Gellert always - _always_ \- correctly picked the two teams that would play in the final. He had gotten it right every year since he had moved back to the States. It was as if he had this weirdly specific precognition.  
After several gambling interests had complained, the network had written into Gellert’s contract that he could not share his prediction with anyone. Of course, he told Albus, but he always waited until Albus broke down and asked.

“No, they would have made it to the final game. Whether they would have won against Grimmauld is –“  
“Grimmauld?” Albus asked incredulously. “There’s no one at Grimmauld.”  
“There’s Black.”  
There was always a Black at Grimmauld. It was as if they owned the school. Maybe they did own the school.

“And there’s this little guy – Kreacher? He doesn’t look like much, but he is all over the court, almost like he’s teleporting to where he’s most needed. And he plays as if he has been personally wronged by every person on the opposing team.”  
Albus had seen Kreacher play. He wasn’t at all likeable, but he had to admit that he was an asset to the Grimmauld team. 

“Fine yes, so they have two guys. That’s hardly a team. Gryffindor would have won.”  
Gellert rolled his eyes. “Do you want to keep discussing a game that will never be played? Or watch _this_ game that I have queued up _right now?_ ”  
“I’m thinking about it,” Albus said, though his grumpiness was feigned at this point. He knew what decision he was going to make.

Gellert moved closer and draped his arm around Albus’ shoulder.  
“I wanted to have a romantic day in with my husband, watching basketball together.”  
“You don’t want to wait until 9, when it would have aired?”  
“There’s only so much authenticity I can take.”  
Albus laughed. “I love you.”  
Gellert answered by stealing the chip right out of Albus’ hand.

“Say yes, Albus. We never get to just relax and watch a game.”  
“We watch pro ball.”  
“You hate pro ball.”  
“I don’t _hate_ it. It’s just – “  
“Not as raw,” they said at the same time. Gellert laughed and Albus scowled at him.

“We’re always working, Lion. We haven’t just watched a college game together in –“  
“Ever. We’ve never watched a game together.”

Albus had played for Gryffindor, and was injured the summer after his senior year – so badly that he wasn’t able to make good on the pro contract he had been offered. Retired on disability before he’d even begun. 

Gellert had already been back in Sweden at that point, preparing to finish out his final year at Durmstrang after his semester abroad at Gryffindor. He hadn’t been able to afford the flight back to check on Albus. Which Albus could probably have understood, but Gellert hadn’t even called, hadn’t e-mailed. It was as if he had just disappeared. Albus was recovering - first in the hospital and then at the rehab center - for more than two months. He didn’t bother to follow up with Gellert when he got home, not even answering Gellert’s ‘I’m sorry I didn’t hear about your injury…’ emails. 

After a year playing pro in Italy, Gellert came back and tried to persuade Albus to move to Europe with him. But Albus had already started working for the network. ‘And even if I hadn’t,’ he had told Gellert, ‘you’re just going to return home and forget about me.’ Albus didn’t add the word, ‘again,’ but that was what he meant. He made sure to be too busy to have much time to see Gellert, and he certainly didn’t have sex with him. More than once - didn't have sex with him more than once. Or twice. Fine, five times. Probably not more than five times.

Contrary to Albus’ expectations, Gellert came back to the States on his off-season the following year, too, which finally persuaded Albus that Gellert was serious about getting back together. Gellert only lasted in Europe a few seasons after that – he became tired of leaving Albus for months at a time. He played for the Russian national team in the Olympics, played one last season in Italy, and came to New York. Albus had found a job for Gellert in production, and they hadn’t been apart since. Eighteen years living together. But one of them had always been working during the games, even before they had ~~earned~~ lucked into their seats in front of the camera. Relaxing in front of the TV together with a beer during the tournament - during any college game - had never been a possibility.

“See? This will be fun. Our first time watching a game together at home, as God intended.”  
Gellert always found the stadiums too loud – even with the headset. Gryffindor’s Everard Indoor Stadium was one of the worst. It had been an act of true devotion for Gellert to show up to every game Albus played there during his last season.

“Did God intend for us to watch _ourselves?_ This is going to be mortifying.”  
“Mostly, we will be watching basketball and simply _listening_ to ourselves.”  
This did not seem much better. But – what were his options? This was the only college basketball he was going to be getting. There had been no March Madness this year, but last year – aside from a handful of games, last year had been an extraordinarily good year.

“So – have we exhausted your objections? Shall we watch -” Gellert put on his announcer’s voice, “An epic battle – a rivalry as old as college basketball itself – a –“

Albus threw a chip at Gellert. “God, shut up. Yes, I want to watch it.”

“Are you going to say, ‘thank you?’”  
“Are you going to say, ‘thank you’ for me bringing you your beer and your snacks?”  
“They're _your_ snacks, too! Unless the chips are just projectiles, in which case I was completely right not to thank you.”

Albus kissed Gellert on the cheek. “Thank you.”

He leaned against Gellert. He did love sitting with Gellert on the sofa – he was just the right warmness, and Albus fit against him exactly right. It really had been thoughtful of Gellert to get this game for him – to know that he would be moping today especially. It was like – like an ‘I love you.’ Gellert didn’t _say_ , ‘I love you,’ very often, but Albus never doubted that Gellert did love him. It was evident in the way he anticipated Albus’ moods and did whatever it was that he most needed in order to feel better. 

Gellert turned his attention to the television.  
“After his injury in the first round, Nott is still on the bench. The Slytherin team has struggled to –“

Albus nudged Gellert with his elbow. “Ridiculous. Are you planning to announce the whole game?”  
“Good point. Having announced this game once already…”

It was going to be strange, but Albus was weirdly looking forward to it.

***

_‘Look at Shacklebolt – he just slipped right in there.’_

“Oh no,” Albus groaned. “I had forgotten –“  
“How could you forget the innuendo competition?”

“Do you still have the stats sheets? With the tally marks on them?”  
“I – may have accidentally left them behind.”  
“Gellert!”

Gellert had been writing to Albus throughout the game, responding to the innuendos (‘I’d like to slip right in there – halftime?’) and doodling (mostly lewd cartoons.) It was a steady stream of juvenile propositioning – and now it was Lord knew where. The scripts probably would have made it onto eBay by now, if they were going to be sold. Albus hoped that meant that the papers had been recycled by the cleaning crew, but he morbidly imagined the ~~annotated~~ defaced scripts showing up on _Antiques Roadshow_ 40 years from now.

_‘There’s Scamander with the reach around –‘  
‘He strips Malfoy!’  
‘Now Scamander is penetrating deep inside –‘  
‘He is using his size to good advantage tonight.’_

“Well, that escalated quickly.”  
Albus laughed. “Yes, it took less than 30 seconds for him to move from the reach around to using his size to good advantage. But then, you have already observed that Scamander ‘gets it off quickly’ – you've said so three times during this game already.”  
“Very efficient of him. If efficient is what you are looking for.”  
“Not really.” 

“Perhaps you would like for me to penetrate deep inside? Use my size to good advantage?”  
Albus threw a chip at Gellert  
“Let me watch the game!”  
“You already know how it ends,” Gellert pointed out, running a hand up Albus’ thigh. Albus batted him away.  
“Shut up, you brought this home for me to watch with you, and I’m watching it.”

_‘Malfoy is good at keeping up the pressure.’  
‘He is crazy aggressive.’  
“He does all the dirty work, but he makes it look good.’_

“Malfoy makes everything look good.”  
“Should I be jealous?” Albus teased. Or – he had thought he was teasing. He was suddenly not sure.

“Of a 20 year old? That would be embarrassing.”  
Of all the possible answers, that had absolutely been the wrong one. Albus threw Gellert’s arm off his shoulder.  
“I’m not asking if you’ve had sex with him, you dick.”  
“Then you have nothing to be jealous of.”  
Albus paused the game. 

“What the hell?”  
“God, I’m just teasing you. I was talking about his play, obviously. Everything he does on the court – it looks effortless. Like you used to do, Love.”  
That was better…  
“And?”  
“And Malfoy is not my type. I’m more into red-headed Gryffindors…”  
Like Albus.  
“Like Scamander.”  
Asshole.

_‘Look at McLaggen squeeze in there.’  
‘He’s at his best when he’s penetrating.’_

Albus laughed. “I love that you said that. ‘At his best when he’s penetrating.’ That’s almost an insult.”  
“How’s that? I was about to say that I am at my best when –“

Albus struggled to maintain his composure. Gellert’s humor had not changed at all since they were in college together. 

“You are marvelous at penetrating," Albus answered, unable to completely stifle a laugh. "But that’s not the _only_ thing I keep you around for. It’s in the top five, but it’s not number one.”  
“Oh? What’s number one?”  
His near obsessive devotion.  
“Just – eyes on the game. Slytherin put five points on the board while we were talking.”

_‘Scamander has been the hottest guy on the floor tonight…’_

“I thought you were just joking about Scamander!”  
“I _was_ just joking about Scamander. Innuendo contest, remember?”  
“That’s hardly an innuendo. That’s –“ 

_‘Don’t forget Malfoy! Between his athleticism, and the fact that he is a two-way player…’_

“Perhaps I am the one who should be jealous, Love. You know that Malfoy is a switch… how, exactly?”  
“It’s possible that I meant he is bi -”  
“You meant he’s a switch. I seem to remember also that he is 'good against the double team?'”  
“Shut up, Gellert. I am strictly man to man. Anyway, I meant he's good on both offense and defense.”  
"And that he is a switch."  
"You wish." 

Gellert opened his mouth to say something and Albus covered it with his hand. "Not. A. Word."  
Gellert licked Albus' palm.  
"God, Gellert! What are you - twelve?"

_‘I love Malfoy’s strength, his personality. And he can drill it hard. This has been a high intensity half – Malfoy has slammed it home again and again - but in the end, it will come down to who wants it the most, and you can tell Scamander wants it.’  
‘I agree. Gryffindor is setting a punishing pace tonight – they tried something new, mixed things up a little, and it has paid off.’_

_‘Gryffindor has a reputation for losing focus in the second half. What will they have to do to beat Slytherin tonight?’  
‘They have to stay engaged - they can't be afraid to get physical. As for Scamander - he has a beautiful stroke, and he knows how to finish. He needs to stay disciplined.’_

“Hmm. Are you looking for someone to discipline you, Albus?”  
“Perhaps I am looking to discipline Scamander.”

“Oh, my heart! You wound me!” Gellert fell dramatically off the sofa, holding his chest.  
Albus laughed. “You need me to kiss it and make it better?”  
Gellert hurried back onto the sofa.

“That was a miraculous recovery!”  
“You promised me a kiss, Albus.”  
“I did. One kiss – then I’m skipping to the second half. The half-time report team last year -”  
Gellert pushed Albus over and climbed on top of him.  
“No – we’re kissing through the half-time report. Just as if the game were on the air.”

***

Albus leapt from the sofa, almost spilling his beer. That buzzer beater was unbelievable. It never should have gone in, even he could admit that. Slytherin should have won in regulation. He would have been impressed if Steph Curry had made that shot, and this kid was off the bench.  
“Unbefuckinglievable!” Albus shouted. “Did you see that? Let’s see that shot again.”  
He tipped his head, hearing his on-screen, last-year self echo, _‘Let’s see that shot again.’_

Gellert laughed.  
“Having fun, Lion?”

Albus turned and saw his husband. His sweet sexy husband.  
He pulled Gellert up off the sofa and into his arms.  
“So much fun,” Albus answered, kissing him.

The kiss deepened, and soon Albus’ hands were pulling off ~~Gellert’s~~ Albus’ t-shirt, and unzipping his fly.

“The game – " Gellert gasped. "You don’t want to – finish - the game?”  
“You said it yourself - we know how it ends,” Albus answered. “Bedroom or shower?”  
“Right here,” Gellert answered, pushing Albus onto the sofa. 

"I will happily take you in my mouth right here," Albus said, grabbing Gellert's hips and pulling him closer, "but I had been meaning for us to - make more of a mess."   
Gellert smirked. "Wanting me to 'penetrate deep inside?'"  
He pulled away from Albus, bent down, reached under the sofa, and pulled out a towel and some lube.

"Presumptuous of you," Albus said, grinning.  
"Maybe not - it looks like I presumed correctly." 

God, he was perfect. And he knew it. Infuriating.   
Albus grabbed Gellert and pulled him onto the sofa.   
"I hate you."   
"No you don't."  
"No. No, I don't." 

Albus resumed kissing Gellert, and they didn't speak in complete sentences anymore for a very long time.

***

Fresh from the shower, Albus was sitting on a barstool at the counter, watching Gellert make grilled cheese sandwiches. It was one of the only things that Gellert knew how to make, but Albus was becoming burnt out on making dinner happen every day, so Gellert had volunteered to ‘cook.’

Keeping his eyes on the skillet, Gellert said, “I think we should come out.”  
“What do you mean, ‘come out’?”  
Albus knew exactly what Gellert meant. But he felt the need to push back.

“Everyone who matters to us knows. Our family, our friends, our co-workers. Even fucking Travers. It’s only the public – people we don’t even know - “  
“I don’t like not being able to hold your hand when we are out. Or put my arm around you.” 

Albus understood Gellert’s desire. He was a bit jealous of the way that younger couples so easily showed affection to one another – holding hands with Gellert on campus would have been impossible in 1995. And on a city street? Not even in 2005. And after that? Albus had been too long in the habit of stifling himself - of being afraid of giving them away. By the time he was thinking he might be able to feel comfortable with being openly affectionate in front of anyone but their friends, they had become public figures, of a sort.

When Albus had complained about this to Gellert, Gellert reminded him that there were too many places where it would _still_ be too dangerous for two guys to be seen holding hands. No one had the corner on fearing the consequences of publicly expressing affection. But it was true that living in this neighborhood, same sex couples were in next to no danger, and Albus ached every time he saw a man wrap his arm around another man in a restaurant or a movie theater or walking down the street, the way that only straight couples used to be able to do. 

“We have even been avoiding being seen too frequently with one another. Hiding that we live together. You call me your husband, but we still haven’t gotten married, because then our relationship would be part of the public record.”

None of these complaints were new.

Perhaps it was time to retire, so that they would have the freedom to be themselves everywhere. But _Gellert loved the job._  
Travers had been adamant about it. There was no way either of them would be able to continue as commentators if they went public.

“Gellert, you know why not.”  
“Then let’s just quit, Albus.”  
“No – sweetheart, no. You love it.”  
“I love you more,” Gellert said, plating a sandwich and handing it to Albus. 

'I love you.'  
Albus looked at Gellert. He looked so hopeful, and hesitant… and now that Albus had been looking at him a bit too long, Gellert’s expression was shifting into one of defiance. Albus remembered that look, though he hadn’t seen it in years. Gellert was serious. He really wanted this. 

Albus looked down at his sandwich. It wasn’t burnt this time. Gellert was finally getting the hang of cooking on ‘the new stove’ – after three years of practice.

They could find something else – it wouldn’t be too difficult. And Gellert had done a good job of conserving their income – they had always lived below their means, and as their income had steadily increased, Gellert had insisted on not changing their lifestyle beyond moving to a nicer apartment. He had been born in East Germany, and then later his parents had moved to the Soviet Union. He often said, ‘Chinese takeout however often I want it is luxury enough for me.’ They were lucky. They could take their time finding something without having to worry about how they would pay the rent.

“Yes, ok.”  
“Yes?”  
Albus cringed a little. That note of incredulity, he had put it there. Gellert had become used to hearing, ‘no.’

“Yes. Yes, let’s get married, yes, let’s hold hands in public, yes, let's make a statement, give a fucking interview, whatever. You’re right. It’s stifling.  
“And I love you more than our job, too.”

“More than the job? You are serious about that?”  
It broke Albus’ heart that Gellert felt he had to ask.

“Well, maybe not more than basketball,” Albus teased, “But definitely more than the job. And basketball - we can watch basketball from the stands, where we can kiss each other if we want to. The main thing that I love about our job is working with you, being with you all the time. So, we are going to have to find something that we can do together. Open a bar or something.”

Gellert looked at him carefully.  
“Good. But as it happens, you will not have to go so far, because we are not going to have to quit.”  
“Gellert – what? Why did you – how?”

“Travers cannot fire us because we are gay – it is against the law."   
"No, but he can fire us for being in a workplace relationship."   
"Which we can easily document that he has known about and tolerated for more than a decade. And besides, we are popular. People love the way we needle one another. If we came out, that would just add another dimension to the drama and speculation. If anything, it would increase ratings. If he fired us, it would look very bad for the network.”

“You think so?”  
“I do. I consulted a couple of people in the marketing department, and they agreed. Did you know that there is fanfiction about us?”

“Fan _fiction?_ Is that where –“  
“Where people write about fictional and real life people online, yes. There is a small but devoted fandom – I didn’t know, but apparently marketing follows this sort of thing. There are over 100 fictional stories where people speculate about what we are like as a couple.”

“How do they know we are a couple?”  
“They don’t _know_ anything – they _ship_ us.”  
“’Ship’ us?”  
“They are highly invested in the notion that we belong together.”  
“It's that obvious, huh?” Albus asked.   
He wasn't entirely surprised. Their affection for one another was impossible to contain. He had thought, though, that people would interpret it as them having a mutual respect, friendship, a healthy working relationship. Which was true, too, but -

“I wouldn’t let it go to your head. There are far more people who think that Tony Stark and Captain America belong together.”  
Interesting. Despite Gellert’s obvious skepticism, Albus thought that a compelling case could be made for Tony Stark and Captain America, not that he’d thought of it before. 

How did one find this fanfiction? Google, probably.

“What sort of things are they writing about us?”  
“Some of the stories are quite… salacious.”  
“People we don't know are writing about us having sex?”  
"It could be worse. People we _do_ know could be the ones writing about us having sex. Honestly, that seems far more creepy to me."  
That did not warrant a response.

“One person had me giving you a handjob while we were covering the game,” Gellert continued.  
“You wouldn’t!”  
“I won’t say I haven’t thought about it, especially when you say something truly delicious. Like in the second half just now, when you were explaining the foul, and said ‘there was contact down below.’ Remember me writing a quick note on your script offering to give you some contact down below? I was half serious. But no, I wouldn’t have – on national television? No." Gellert paused briefly, then corrected himself. "Probably not.”

 _Probably_ not? He was already quite familiar with Gellert's semi-public sex kink. There was that time in the Gryffindor locker room after all of the players had left after one of their games two years ago, for instance. He had even brought one of Albus’ old jerseys. But it seemed he might lean more public than Albus had thought.

“100 stories - and some people are probably responsible for more than one - there aren't 100 unique authors, surely. That's not that many people, Gellert. Not enough to make a difference to Travers.”  
“No, but marketing asserted that there are probably at least 1000 people who speculate about our relationship for every one person who becomes sufficiently invested to look for and read one of these stories. And there are more readers than writers.”

“Still –“  
“No, you’re right – they’re a miniscule subset of our fans. But Queenie told me –“  
“Queenie?”  
“Queenie is in marketing. It’s her job to know what people are thinking. She’s Tina Goldstein’s sister.”

Albus adored Tina. She was responsible for preparing all of the stats that made him and Gellert look like analytical wizards. ‘Gryffindor has never lost to Hufflepuff on a Thursday,’ and the like. They should have Tina over to dinner – once they were allowed to have people over to dinner again.

“Queenie says that we are the most popular team of commentators – not just over the past couple of years, but for more than a decade. On a more professional basis. You know, for the actual work we do. Not for whether or not folks can imagine what we are up to in our bedroom.”  
Or on their living room floor.

“If this network doesn’t want us, another one will pick us up. And if they don’t… then I guess we can open your bar. Either way - it sounds like I haven’t been the only one thinking about this after all. You have been thinking about this, right? You’re not just saying ‘yes’ because you don’t want to disappoint me?”

Albus had laid awake imagining it many nights. He didn’t want to have to hide how he felt about Gellert. He especially hated having to fly separately when they went on vacation, so that no one would see them sitting next to each other and snap a photo and post it to Instagram or something. No, he especially hated _everything_ about hiding their relationship.  
But he loved Gellert, and he hadn’t wanted to take the spotlight away from him. Having hundreds of thousands of people listening to him was important to him. He liked having people walk up to him in the airport and take a photo with him. It wasn’t often, but it was often enough to make up for the annoying, ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ and ‘You’re somebody, right?’  
Albus’ own discomfort with them having to maintain their distance in public? He had thought that it was a worthwhile sacrifice. 

And now it turned out that Gellert himself didn’t think that it was worth it. Albus had been doing something for Gellert that was the very opposite of what Gellert had actually wanted. Albus should have asked. They should have talked about it...  
But Albus had to admit that Gellert _had_ tried to talk about it, and Albus had shut Gellert down every time. No wonder Gellert had been secretive with his data gathering.

Albus picked up the remaining half of his sandwich. It had gotten cold. He set it back down again.

“I think about it all the time, Gellert. I thought – I know you’ve been asking, but I thought that you didn’t - I haven’t been listening to you very well. I’m sorry.”  
Gellert shrugged. That was no good. Albus had hurt his feelings, clearly.

“What made you bring this up again tonight?”  
“Well… we haven’t been working all month, at what is usually our busiest time of the year, and we’ve been fine. Better than fine. I feel like you’ve missed the basketball, but not the work, and I – I haven’t missed any of it. If anything, I’ve enjoyed being stuck here with you – not being out in the world pretending, the network needlessly paying for two hotel rooms, sometimes not getting to spend the night together because we can’t manage to sneak into one another’s rooms.”  
That had happened only four times, but Albus knew that Gellert resented every single time – he mentioned it whenever they had to stay in a hotel, which was often, given their job.

“I thought perhaps you’d be more open to it, seeing how happy we can be without it – that if we took our jobs out of the equation, we could just – focus on what we want for ourselves, what we want our relationship to be.”

“You could really be happy without it? I know you said that marketing said that we could come out, but we’d still be – performing our relationship for an audience. There would still be a veneer of unreality to it… Maybe we should just quit anyway. I loved sitting with you on the couch, just watching basketball together. Out or not, I can’t snuggle with you during the game if we’re commenting on it.”

“It’s not just snuggling. If we were watching from our own sofa, then I actually _could_ give you a handjob during the game.”

Oh. They still had a very exciting overtime that they hadn’t watched yet. And Gellert had said some truly outrageous things on air, if Albus remembered. Even more so than in regulation. It had made Albus hard just listening to him. By the time the second overtime was over, Albus was too wound up to wait for them to get back to the hotel. Gellert had broken into a closed concessions stand and given him a quick blowjob before they even left the stadium.

“We still haven’t watched the overtime,” Albus pointed out, “and we’ve both finished our dinner.”  
“Then what are we waiting for?” Gellert answered with a grin. He began walking to the living room. He stopped and turned around to look at Albus. “C’mon, slowpoke – I’m looking to ‘initiate some contact.’” 

Albus laughed. He was still disappointed that there had been no tournament this year – but staying in and watching last year’s game with Gellert? It had turned out to be exactly what he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> The homoerotic subtext of college basketball announcing is ubiquitous. All of the commentary in this fic? Phrases actually spoken on the air by real life commentators during real life college basketball games. (Except I changed the names, naturally.) 
> 
> I had been saving them up for a year, intending to write a very different fic with them, but now with COVID... this was the fic that I wanted to write instead, it turns out.
> 
> I might be back with more next year - I only used a bit under half of the phrases I've collected. Seriously. It's a lot.


End file.
